Ravings
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: Watson is tormented after Holmes' 'death' at Reichenbach - told from Watson's P.O.V. COMPLETE..I think...
1. Chapter 1

**Ravings**

I have not written since it happened, I could not bear it, could not bring myself to hold my pen and feel it scrape the paper in that old familiar way. Perhaps I am getting old, perhaps my demons are finally catching up with me; for I too dear reader, have my demons.

Holmes is dead, I must write that. He had died in the arms of his enemy and I was not there, that fact will haunt me until the day I too die and go to join my friend – wherever he may be. It may be a morbid thought but since that day I have wondered where he is, I do not mean where on this earthly plain for I know that to be impossible, I mean is he in heaven or in hell? Surely in heaven I hear you cry; I cannot help but think that there was more to Holmes than even I knew, perhaps there was some event in his past which was unforgiveable, tragic, horrible - he was himself a mystery; perhaps he suffers torment in some hellish dimension while I go on, unknowing.

How can I leave him there? The thought drives me mad, if he is suffering I should save him, but there is no way. These are indeed the ravings of a mad man, surely Holmes must be in heaven – if there is such a thing, which I doubt. Is he gone then? Truly? His body and his soul forever gone from me? It is a notion I cannot bear, perhaps that is why we cling so depseratly to religion, to the desperate idea that we will see our loved ones again – and yet my heart despairs to face the alternative.

I hear the people of my house move around me and I do not care. I came back this morning and I cannot face even my beloved Mary, so deep is my pain. She should be the one person to whom I turn and yet her very countenance is abohorrent to me. I can no longer face the injustice of the world, I briefly thought of ending my life out there in Switzerland. What had I to live for? Holmes was gone and my child….Mary had wired me, unkown to Holmes, that our child was dead, that she was suffering and tormenting me for being apart from her. It was my place. My place.

I had no idea what my place was and now Holmes is gone I am even less sure. Mary blames me for our boy's death, I can see it in her eyes, she is hurting and I cannot help, I do not care. I care for nothing. I know that is selfish of me but I have spent so much of my life pandering to others that now I want nothing more than to plunge into my despair and end it there.

I can hear you all remonstrating me, did I or did I not berate Holmes for the very thing I am doing now? But I never understood his pain, his suffering, never could comprehend his need for self destruction – until now. Perhaps Holmes had too, at some point in his life, lost all he loved and the memory of it haunted him. I was wring to berate him. My mind is full of anger and remorse that I know not where to direct it, even poor Mrs. Hudson, that estimable lady, I refused to see. It must end, I know it must.

Sooner or later the pain must subside and I must begin to live again. I have felt this kind of pain before, when my brother died but that was expected – this was sudden, this sudden taking of all I loved. What more can the Gods take from me? There is a knock at the door.

It is Mary.

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_Just a one shot at the moment – may turn into something longer if people like it : ) _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two.**

It has been a horrendous night. My heart cannot stand any more. The darkness is suffocating and yet it is the one thing that I find solace in. Mary lies asleep in the bed, exhausted. I too, am exhausted, yet sleep evades me. I do not know where to begin, I feel I must tell someone my thoughts and the one man to whom I would normally turn is….

The wind beats at the window like a restless soul commanding my attention and from out of the darkness I fancy I can hear Holmes' voice calling me, can almost see his figure forming in front of my eyes. I shut them, the fear of a world unknown overwhelming me. When I open them, Holmes is gone and it is once more me and Mary – alone.

I should start at the beginning – where else is there to begin? The knock at the door was Mary; she told me there was a man to see me. I refused, saying I would see no-one and I would not have done were it not for the look in her tormented eyes and the strength of the grip she had on my arm, I would have turned away and ignored this man demanding my time. But I did not – oh how I wish to God that I had. I fear God has abandoned me.

The man waiting for me was forbidding to say the least. He was a giant of a man, all muscle and brawn; however I was too miserable a creature to be intimidated and merely asked him his business. He said a name that made my blood run cold – Moriarty. The late professor's brother. My shock must have shown on my face for he laughed and said he agreed that they did not look much alike. I fear I was very rude and told him I thought them as different as night and day in appearance. He merely nodded. I asked him to quickly state his business as I was very busy. He nodded again – this man looked like a predator, ready to strike.

He told me that he was glad Holmes was dead, that his persecution of his brother was unwarranted and unjustified. He raved for at least a full minute on the virtues of his dead brother and the multitude of sins that made up Sherlock Holmes, he told me he was glad Holmes was dead, that the world was finally rid of him. I could not speak, every muscle in my body was frozen and then he hit me. The pathetic man actually hit me – I reeled backwards and when I regained my footing he was gone.

Mary nearly fainted when she saw the blood, but she acted admirably as always and bandaged me up as I sat timid as a child in her care. I felt I did not deserve her care, as I had left her while she was going through what no woman should. I could not look at her, she sensed my sorrow and pulled me to her, crying into my chest. I could feel nothing as I stroked her damp hair. What is happening to the world we used to feel so safe and complete in?

Mary looks pale; she is constantly coughing and is often tired. It may be the loss of the baby – I'm not sure. She went to bed early and had to be helped up the stairs by the maid. I fear I was still distracted by Moriarty's brother; the bruise he had left me with was a constant reminder of Holmes' loss. Every time I shut my eyes I imagined him down there in that awful swirling water alone. I can not bear this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**An idea inspired by KCS : ) **

Mary persuaded me to go to Lestrade regarding Moriarty's brother and his unwarranted attack on me. I felt it was too little, too late but nonetheless my wish to please her was beginning to dominate even my grief for Holmes. I set off for the yard attempting to avoid any part of London that would remind me of Holmes, sadly that was near impossible. Wherever I went I saw the past replayed, glaring before me like some demon sent to torment me. I walked as if in a dream, not knowing for what purpose I walked. Soon I came upon Scotland Yard, that forbidding building that housed so many secrets and things too terrible to be told. My story among them.

I waited for the Inspector in a long corridor filled with people of the lowest order. Some were screaming and some were sitting quite still, probably contemplating their fate, as I was mine. Lestrade greeted me with a smile that spoke volumes, he was not happy to see me. He greeted me cordially and expressed his sympathy for Holmes' loss. It seems he had heard about the incident with Professor Moriarty's brother and expressed his sympathy but was reluctant to do anything about it. I could not say I blamed him, it was a difficult situation, the man was grieving as I was. Lestrade promised his support should the man harass me further, I thanked him and took my leave. I was eager to be gone.

The air outside the Yard was clean and cool, and for a while I felt soothed by it. I began to walk home; it was quite a walk but my mind could not face the thought of returning too soon. Mary was getting worse. I knew she needed me and I was well aware of the seriousness of the situation but I could not bear the thought of losing her, and so I ignored it. Turning the corner I ran into a woman, as I helped her to her feet I was astonished to find myself staring into the face of Mrs. Hudson!

She stared at me in complete amazement and I must say I stared back in exactly the same fashion. I regret to say I had not spoken to her since my return from Switzerland, I believe it was Mycroft Holmes who informed her of her lodger's death. How she had taken the news I was not sure. Whether it was the shock of my sudden appearance or the memory of Holmes that I brought to her mind, before I knew it she was crying and holding my arm. To prevent a scene I led her to a nearby tea shop where I purchased us both a cup and attempted to calm her down. It was evident that she was feeling Holmes' loss almost as keenly as I. Her eyes were dark and tear stained and her face showed much pain and worry. She did calm however as the tea soothed her and she begged me to take some lunch with her at Baker Street. The very idea of setting foot inside Baker Street was enough to make me physically ill but I could not refuse her.

As I entered my old quarters I felt all the memories rush back to me, in a bittersweet way it was pleasant to find myself there, if there was one place in this wide world that I could call home then I believed it was Baker Street. My heart felt a pang as I thought of Mary and the home we had built together but I knew that if my heart truly belonged anywhere then it was here. As we sat and talked in Mrs. Hudson's warm kitchen I felt a strange peace come over me, Mrs. Hudson was in fact not much older than myself, but she always had a sort of maternal effect upon me and I felt calmer after we had spoken. We talked of Holmes and of the past and indeed of the future, before I had set foot inside her house I was not sure that I had one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I returned to Mary later that afternoon to find her dozing in a chair in the drawing room, as I walked in she lifted her head slightly and smiled at me, even that small action seemed to exhaust her. I wanted to run to her, take her in my arms and leave London, go anywhere, take her away and will life into her but I knew it was too late. My Mary was dying; I was going to lose her as well as Holmes. Meeting Mrs. Hudson had made me realise that by being consumed by my grief I was wasting what I knew to be my last days with the love of my life.

Tears were beyond me now, they served no purpose and my pain was too deep to be relieved by crying. It would distress Mary to see me cry and now my only purpose was to make her comfortable – happy. It should have been my purpose all along. Not that I blamed Holmes, his life had always been so opposite to my own that I could not help but be swept up by it all. I do not blame him for taking me away from her for I went of my own will and I do not regret it. Perhaps I should, perhaps if I had been a better husband. But no – speculation at this late stage will achieve nothing and that way madness lies…

The doctor has been this morning to tell me what I already knew. That Mary had merely days left. I felt sick as he was speaking, all the grief I had felt when I knew Holmes was gone was intensified a hundred times knowing that it was my lover who was to die – this time in front of my very eyes.

It is dawn and Mary is gone, she went too early. The doctor gave me days not hours! It was peaceful and almost beautiful. In spite of the illness that was consuming her I have never seen her look more beautiful – well perhaps once but this is no place to recount that particular story. She went while looking into my eyes and holding my hand, we talked and we smiled and then it was over. My dear girl was gone and I was alone. I held her for a long time after I felt her breathing cease and I watched the sun rise on her golden hair as I rocked her in my arms and I wondered if Holmes would meet her and take care of her.

Mrs. Hudson has been to see me this morning, she cried and she held me as I cried. I had lost everything in a few months and somehow she understands and she remains silent while I grieve. I never saw how truly remarkable she is, but I see it now, she is a paragon and I would be lost without her. Mycroft Holmes sent a message to express his sympathies and regret. The note was strange, somehow hesitant and full of remorse, a remorse I did not think him capable of. I replied telling him I was grateful for his concern but I needed nothing – and besides what I needed he could not provide.

I am alone, Mrs. Hudson has moved into the guest room insisting that I let her take care of me. I was too tired to refuse. I lie here listening to the silence and marvelling at how my life has changed; six months ago I was a happily married man, an expectant father and trusted friend of the world's greatest detective. Now I am nothing, I have nobody and I have no where to turn, I have never felt such despair as this and I think it may drive me mad, if I am not mad already.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The world continues to spin and life goes on very much as it always has. I feel Mary's loss keenly each time I open my eyes to find a day dawning without her, to the moment when I close my eyes without feeling her lying next to me. The house was deathly silent and seemed rather large for me alone. Although Mrs. Hudson still remains, she no longer spends all of her time with me, her responsibilities to Baker Street still very much a part of her life - I wonder if she wil lrent the rooms out? I do not see how she cannot. My practice is unabsorbing and I may do something scandalous if I am approached by one more elderly matron claiming to be dying from a common cold.

I find the darkness so much worse than the light. In the darkness I can hear Holmes and Mary and they are together, they laugh and smile and I cannot reach them. I often wake in the night, not gasping for breath or sweating profusely, I just wake – unsure what to do or where I am. I have been alone before but then I had no-one to miss, my life was my own, I had not then given it over to someone else's' care. I may never do so again.

It has been an interesting morning. Lestrade came to see me and asked me how I was, he said I looked well – the man is a profuse liar – and inquired as to my practice. Was I particularly busy at the moment? I replied that I was not and was taken aback as he proceeded to offer me a position. My shock soon turned to interest and as he said work is the best antidote to sorrow, so I agreed to his proposition which was thus. His current police surgeon was, while competent at his job, unable to meet the demands of a growing number of cases. I smiled as I realised Holmes had been right, that his absence from London did cause an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes, and Lestrade was in need of a doctor upon whom he could rely and who could be called out at any time, to any part of London. He said that he had immediately thought of me and that such a position might be welcome in my current situation. I pondered the matter for perhaps thirty seconds before agreeing, I did need work and this sort of work may bring me closer to Holmes' memory.

The contemplation of a new challenge has cheered me somewhat, I find I can eat and I slept much better, awaking only once by a vision of Mary and Holmes in my dreams. Mrs Hudson is back this morning and I can hear her bustling about downstairs preparing breakfast. I almost feel hopeful, life is slowly becoming normal again and while my grief is an ever present reminder of my past, my future is tangible and is before me. I do think writing a sort of catharsis, I must go Mrs. Hudson is calling. Hopefully I will write more before too long – that is, as long as I am not kept too busy in my new role with the Yard!

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_Just a writer's note : )_

_I know this style of telling a 'Sherlock Holmes' story is a little bizarre but it was inspired by reading 'Dracula' I love the way that story moves and is told almost obscurely by those involved and we are very much on the outside looking in, almost piecing the story together for ourselves, and that is what I'm trying to achieve. I don't want to tell you everything! I want you to invent some things for yourself – you tell me what happens next, what you think may happen next at any rate ; ) I'll stop going on and let you contemplate. Many thanks for the lovely reviews!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six.**

The day is drawing to a close and I must say it has been uneventful, much like the past few months. I have been busy, hence my rather sporadic diary entries, but I feel somewhat unfulfilled. My work with the yard has not proved as absorbing as I had hoped, the cases I am given are simple, run of the mill murders that do not take even Lestrade and his cronies very long to solve. I am afraid I feel rather surplus to requirements, merely there to cross the t's and dot the i's as it were. Life has not altered much in the intervening months since my last entry, except…

I have paused in my writing for I feel as though I am somehow doing wrong, I feel a shadow cast over the room in which I sit and all is suddenly silent, even the busy street beyond my window seems to have paused in anticipation of what I am about to write. And yet I must. It is the most wonderful and surprising thing that has happened to me since Holmes and Mary's death. I am in love.

It does not feel wrong to write and yet again I pause, I have never said the words and especially not to the woman concerned – I do not think she is aware of my feelings and if she is, she does not humiliate me by letting on that she knows for I am almost sure that she does not – can not – feel the same for me. I am not sure I want her to, Mary is still very much in my thoughts, she was the love of my life, my wife. Yet I cannot deny that this feeling is welcome, it is truly the only thing that reminds me I am alive. The sudden rush when I see her – and I see her often – the tingle when she happens to brush past me, all the wonderful and foolish things one feels when one is in love have all come rushing back to me, blowing the cobwebs from my eyes and making me almost rejoice to be alive.

Rejoice to be alive? I can hardly believe I wrote the words. I shall tell you her name, what harm can it do to tell you? You who cannot intervene in my life for better or worse. For all I know it may be hundreds of years in the future and you may already know what I am to write or I have been forgotten and it will come as a shock to you; either way I shall tell you. The name of my saviour is – Martha Hudson.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven.**

Are you shocked? I suppose you should be shocked. I was shocked. As I have mentioned in these writings before she produced somewhat maternal feelings within me, however that was before. She was only a couple of years older than myself and quite beautiful when one stopped to notice her…This is all nonsense probably, feelings induced by my pain and she happened to be closest to me for the longest period of time. I know I should believe that but I cannot, I have been in love before, I am not some naïve school boy that does not know how it feels, I am not fooling myself. I am. She cannot feel the same for me.

She has just left me, she brought in tea. I don't want tea. This is driving me mad; all my feelings are driving me mad. I think it would be better if I had none, emotions are terrible things and men are such messes. I find that her face lingers in my mind long after she has gone. She smiled at me, completely unaware of what she did. I am in hell.

An ironic thing to write I find, that I am in hell after all that has happened. It has been almost a year since Holmes' death and while time does not heal the pain, it does make one used to the fact. I am used to it now; I have become accustomed to feeling a pang of pain when I pass Baker Street, or when I pass any corner of London that reminds me of Holmes. I am used to not hearing his voice- even though I often hear it in my dreams. I often see his figure passing by me as I sit at work listening to some dreary patient, or watching me as I investigate some mundane murder with Lestrade. He almost laughs at me as I struggle to see what he would notice immediately. I think Lestrade feels it too, that we are incompetent fools next to his brilliance.

Lestrade thinks there is something brewing among the criminal classes, and while it is true that there have been a string of murders lately, they are relatively inconsequential, unimaginative crimes that do not portend the coming of some great evil – I think he is being rather melodramatic.

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_Just a quick little chapter to update because it's getting busy again! I wont leave you hanging I promise - not for too long anyway : ) Reviews ALWAYS welcome!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight.**

My mind is disturbed. There was a murder in the less fashionable part of London this morning – nothing remarkable in that you may say, but this murder has stayed with me. Usually I can detach myself from the horrors I see on an almost daily basis but this one was so awful, so completely without motive that I cannot begin to understand it. The poor woman - if woman she was – for there was so little of her left that it was hard to tell – had been mutilated beyond recognition. All I saw upon entry to the scene was a mass of blood and skin and muscle. Many policemen, big, burly men, had fainted away at the sight and I have to confess I was very near it myself. Lestrade looked ill as he spoke to me, he said 'she' was found in the early morning by a friend who had come to call for her as she usually did around that time, when she didn't answer the young woman forced the door and screamed blue murder until a near by officer came to her aid. She was then taken to a hospital herself, having suffered a severe nervous breakdown at the sight of her friend.

Lestrade confessed he was baffled and expressed a wish to see Holmes again as he would have appreciated his thoughts. I merely smiled and grunted my assent, I have become determined not to let Holmes' constant memory haunt me and plague me – I shall go mad and never have peace if I am constantly wishing for his presence. I examined the body as best I could and reported to Lestrade that it was butchery, there was no way to determine time of death, other than by the clotting of the blodd that was all around, which was extremely inaccurate and there was no way to tell how she died. The murderer had obviously been in a frenzy, treating his poor victim as an outlet for his rage, a piece of meat rather than a human being. Lestrade agreed and said he would perhaps call on me again soon when – or if – any progress had been made. I took my leave, eager to be gone and desperate for fresh air.

I returned home somewhat agitated to be faced with Mrs. Hudson preparing dinner for me, she saw I was distressed and made me sit down while she made some tea. The poor woman looked exhausted and all for worrying about me. I do not deserve it. She made the tea and asked if she could possibly sit with me as there was something she would like to talk to me about. My blood actually ran cold, I feared she was going to say she was leaving me, that the strain of running two households was becoming too much. However she continued to say that she thought the events of the past year were beginning to show upon me and that she was more than happy to close up 221b for the time being and move in here, as housekeeper, permanently with me. I almost choked on my tea such was my joy. I checked my smile just in time and asked her if she was quite sure as I was not sure I could match the princely sum that I knew Holmes paid her. She shook her head and said the money was not important and she would not take any more than was necessary from me. I thanked her warmly and agreed – how could I not?

Mrs. Hudson, Martha, here I shall call her Martha, has moved in. It is wonderful to know she will be here with me, I already feel more at peace. It is enough for me to be able to see her every day, to watch and admire her, to speak with her. I need no more than that. I feel privileged to be blessed with this feeling, even if it is only a transference of my love for Mary to another – I can still feel and after all that has happened, that is a beautiful thing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine.**

Lestrade has called again today; he says there has been another murder. He seems very tense, as if there were something he were hiding, keeping from me. I suppose I must not speculate but as Holmes would say…no, not as Holmes would say. What would I say? I often think my personality is merging with Holmes'. Why is the man constantly on my mind? Lestrade does not want me involved on the case, he says there are some very important officials interested in this case and he fears my association with it would encourage questions and bring a sort of sensationalism to it. Sensationalism?! I would say it was quite sensational enough already, two women butchered – high officials involved – how could my presence possibly affect things? Still Lestrade was quite insistent.

Today has been a peculiar day, Lestrade acting odd this morning and as I was about to leave the yard this afternoon a man accosted me! He was a shabby looking man and he startled me as I left the morgue, it was just getting dark and a light drizzle had begun to fall, I was trying in vain to hail a cab when I felt a tug on my arm, I turned to be faced with this wild eyed creature who was frantically trying to catch his breath. My attempts to calm him down proved futile, his agitation becoming more pronounced as my concern for him grew. He would not tell me his name but just that I should leave London as soon as possible, I tried to explain to him how ridiculous a suggestion this was but he kept insisting that he had been told to warn me, he said that he had promised and as a man of honour he would fulfil his promise. I could see no other way of getting rid of the man than to promise, so I did so – albeit reluctantly. Having heard my promise repeated a further three times the man ran off and would not return despite my calling him back. I continued home on foot in the rain, feeling much perplexed and down-hearted.

When I returned home, Mrs. Hudson was just preparing tea. I smiled involuntarily as I saw her and let her lead me to a chair. She fussed around me for a while and bathed in her presence, feeling calmer for it. When she left me I began to think over what the man had said, he seemed young, well around my age at any rate and sound of mind. I wondered if I should take his threat seriously – this musing did not last long however for Mrs. Hudson returned with my tea and the matter was soon forgotten. It is only now as I sit here in my room alone that I fancy I can hear things outside and the hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand that I feel I should perhaps have heeded the man's warning. But no, it is nonsense, it is merely these awful murders that have left me feeling jumpy and besides leaving London would be unthinkable as well as completely impractical. I could not leave my work and I could not leave Martha – I will not, and as I see no honourable way of persuading her to accompany me, here I stay – for better or for worse.


	10. Chapter 10

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Chapter Ten.

I didn't want to think about it, but I find it is constantly on my mind. My every waking thought is about it and I cannot find peace. Martha is such a joy, I look at her and I feel peaceful, if only I could find that sort of peace away from her. The murders continue and I am feeling the strain, I cannot help but think that Lestrade was right after all, something is coming.

I keep returning to the promise I made that poor man that day in the rain, I promised I would leave London, then I thought he was merely a mad man, and that I was a random target for his ravings; but now? I cannot help but feel that I should take his warning seriously and leave, you may wonder what has prompted this sudden change of heart and I confess to being more than a little surprised at my sudden fear but I have a suspicion that these murders are not the work of a random killer but are aimed at me – at engaging my attention.

The murders are not random they are happening at places that are local to me – me and Holmes. Places we ate at, theatres we went to, every part of our lives mapped out by a trail of bodies, the bodies of beautiful women mutilated in spots that are unique to me. At first I thought my addled brain was inventing a problem that did not exist but as each murder appeared at a place I knew intimately, I began to see a pattern and today a startling thing happened, there was a note attached to the body. Lestrade had removed it to show me, it said 'I am sorry to hear of your loss. Those who love you are thinking of you.' Lestrade thinks it is connection with mary but what if it is in connection with Holmes? And those who love me? What does that mean? I am fearful. I do not know what to expect and I feel I should leave but I will not leave Martha I will not lose anyone else I love, my heart will not bear it.

The wind rattles through the house, I cannot sleep I can hear Martha breathing in the next room and I want to sob. What is happening to my world? A letter came for me after dinner, again expressing sorrow for my loss, the signature was Holmes' I am sure of it and yet…he is dead, this surely must be an impostor, it is not the first letter I have had from someone claiming to be Holmes but I confess that my heart lifted at the sight of his name. I cannot be hopeful, Holmes is dead I must keep repeating what I know to be true. Holmes is dead, Holmes is dead, Holmes is dead…

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_Sorry for the length of time between updates! Blame Jesus' crucifiction and subsequent fuss : ) Anywho Easter Eggs aside I've finally managed an update! Hope you all had an enjoyable and peaceful Easter and like this chapter! Reviews always welcome..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

I have decided to leave London, at least for a while, and Martha shall come with me. This decision was not made in haste and has been thought through and debated down to the last detail, a recent development has decided me and I shall tell you now what occurred.

I had a visit from a man I thought never to see again as long as I lived. Mycroft Holmes, the brother of my closest friend whom I had met only a handful of times, came to my house to see me. Even as I write it and have lived it, I cannot believe it.

He arrived just as I was about to leave for the yard and it was clear he was in evident discomfort. I assumed that it was because of Mary that he fumbled upon his words and was so unlike the Mycroft that I had known, that for a while I was convinced that I was the victim of an elaborate hoax. As it was Mycroft settled into his usual self and explained why he had taken so drastic a course of action as actually coming to see me. He said that he had information that would ensure my death, I paled at this dramatic statement and he smiled. He said that he was more like his brother than he cared to admit and dramatics were in the blood, he asked me about the man in the rain, what I had told him. I was surprised that he knew of what seemed to me, such an inconsequential event but Mycroft pushed for an answer without giving an explanation. I said I thought him mad and promised to leave the city merely to ease the poor man's mind. Mycroft seemed much disturbed by this and groaned and shut his eyes. I sat in silence, unsure of what to do or say. My mind was baffled and I longed to know why Mycroft Holmes had condescended to visit me.

I thought of Holmes – my Holmes – often during that interview. There was in his brother aspects of him, his eyes and his gestures, the way he spoke in that slow, deliberate manner and the fire that flashed in his eyes at moments of desperation. For I felt that was what Mycroft had become, desperate. He said that he could not tell me who the man in the rain had been but that he was not mad, I must leave London. I did not tell him about the murders and my suspicions that they were being committed by someone to gain my attention. Perhaps I should have done but I am sure Mycroft must have known. He mentioned my work with the yard more than once and alluded to Lestrade and the cases I had been working on. I replied that all my work seemed somewhat mundane of late. Mycroft smiled gently and ran a finger across his lips. He told me again that I must leave, as soon as I was able. That it was the safest course of action at the present time. As he stood to leave he grasped my hand so hard that I winced and made me look in his eyes and promise that I would leave, he said he could not have my death on his conscience, not if he could in any way prevent it. I looked in his eyes and saw Sherlock Holmes pleading with me and I agreed. I did not tell him about Martha, that is none of his concern, but she must come with me. How I shall persuade her I do not know but I know it must be done. Where am I to go? I had little family when I came to London all those years ago, now I have none. Still there are ways around all impossibilities and I will not falter now, if Mycroft Holmes says I must go then go I will.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve.**

We have gone. Martha came with me easily; she said I should never have thought she wouldn't. She too, knew of Mycroft's visit and that whatever he came to say should be taken seriously and so she did. Wonderful, darling Martha came with me and we ran. We travelled to Scotland; Martha has a sister there who we are to stay with. I hesitated for fear of putting her family in danger but she insisted, and as we had no other options, it is to Scotland we went.

Scotland, while beautiful, is haunting and in some places, desolate. Whoever was looking for me could not find me easily here. Martha's family live in Inverness, not far from Loch Ness, that great mass of water and monsters. I often gaze at the dark depths and wonder what lies beneath. Martha says I should not brood so, that it is not healthy. She seems happy enough here, to be with her sister's family, who have been so warm and welcoming that the feelings I am harbouring for her seem to be more sordid and terrible here than they ever were in London. Life goes on at a slow pace and we live as a couple, at least in the eyes of the town; Martha Hudson visiting her family with her new husband is all they know of us. If only it were true, if only the terrible darkness that surrounds my existence were gone and Martha was mine – then, perhaps I could find some sort of peace.

I read the daily papers with an eagerness that surprises Martha, I have not told her of the murders, although they continue at an alarming rate in London. I have had one telegraph from Lestrade saying they are close to the end, whether it was his attempt at comfort or not I was grateful for the contact. I have no choice but to trust that Lestrade knows what he is doing and can solve this case on his own. But perhaps he is not alone, perhaps Mycroft is assisting him, perhaps the murders have something to do with Moriarty and Holmes. I can think of no other reason for someone wanting to gain my attention other than my connection with Holmes. Perhaps they know something that I do not about his death. Perhaps Holmes is still alive!

I cannot believe my actions since I last wrote mere hours ago, although it feels like days. So certain was I that Holmes was indeed alive, I ran to the telegraph office in the town and sent a wire to Mycroft telling him of my suspicions, that I knew he was involved in solving these murders with Lestrade and that I was sure it was because the murderer was trying to tell me that Holmes was alive and was the only man who could stop him. I was convinced reader that I had solved it, that these atrocities were being committed to lure Holmes back to London, that my dearest friend was alive. After sending the telegraph I spent the remainder of the afternoon wandering aimlessly about the loch, which seemed less forbidding and more beautiful as the winter sunlight danced on its ripples. I returned to the house to be greeted by Martha who said a boy had delivered a telegram while I was out. I was beyond joyful at this news and actually took Martha in my arms and spun her around before dashing off to read the news I had not expected to come, in private.

But I was to be shocked. Mycroft had told me in no uncertain terms that my correspondence was not welcome. That the murders currently sweeping London had nothing to do with his brother and were attracting attention so were being dealt with to prevent any demonstrations by the public. He went on to suggest that I should enjoy my holiday (conveniently forgetting that it was at his insistence that I left) and insisted that I was not to mention my suspicions of the possibility of his brother being alive to anyone for fear that I may be feared mad. He finished by saying that he did not wish to discuss his 'unfortunate' brother, in terms dead or alive, and wished me well with Martha Hudson, whom he heard had accompanied me to Scotland.

I have to confess that I am beyond disturbed at Mycroft's wire; it seems as if he has completely forgotten our conversation before I left London. How can he not remember all we talked about? I cannot understand it. I am too tired to think and I can hear Martha calling me from below for dinner. I will write more when I have had time to reason with my fears.

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_I was writing these at work and updating from there but they must have wised up to me because they have now blocked the site! How rude! So these updates may be a little bizarre - they will either all come at once or not come at all for ages! So don't blame me, blame my boss : ) _


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The evening passed uneventfully. We ate and Martha retired to her bed but I could not sleep. Mycroft's wire had, I confess disturbed me, I did not know what to think of his sudden coldness and unexplainable obtuseness as to my situation. It seemed very suspicious and the only explanation I could give for his sudden behaviour was that Holmes was in fact alive. But no, such thoughts are madness, he cannot be, I was there, there was no trace of him. Or was there? Did I give up too easily? Oh God what if he was alive and was there somewhere? He was there watching me, waiting for me and I did nothing – I left him.

I had to stop, the tears were coming fast and I felt ashamed. I have slept for a while and feel more composed. No Holmes is dead. I would know if he were alive. I need to leave Scotland, there are no answers here. I have been over it a thousand times in my mind and I believe the key to all this lies with the man I saw in the rain. He knows something about Holmes, about me, maybe even about Mycroft. He is the key and I must find him. Lestrade will help me, he must help me. He will…

Martha thinks me mad, I do not blame her. I am leaving tomorrow, she has tried to stop me but I must go. She will remain here for the foreseeable future. Baker Street is shut up and visited on sporadic occasions only by Mycroft who pays any upkeep; therefore there is no immediate need for her return to London. I will miss her presence and I would like to think that she will miss me. I feel that old familiar pain in my stomach when I think of leaving her but it is for the best. I do not know what may become of me in London, I may be gone for a considerable time and when I return to any semblance of a normal life, I am not sure how much of me – the me I am now – will return with me.

_Sorry for the length of time between updates! Life is constantly getting in the way : )_

_I hope you can still remember what's going on! All reviews are gratefully received._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

I have not written for some time. It has been a year since I left Martha in Scotland and two since Holmes' death at the Reichenbach falls. So much has happened since that fateful day and I am no longer the Watson I was then. Lestrade encouraged me to start up my practice again – convinced that work would be the best thing for me. I have continued as a police surgeon to the yard, the murders of last year were never solved but the killing stopped as abruptly and with as much violence as it began. Three more women were murdered and still the police are baffled. The man who seeked to gain my attention was perhaps merely a deranged killer, bent on causing as much suffering as possible. This proves to me how disturbed my mind was at that time, to think the murders were done for my benefit!

Martha remains in Scotland and my search for the man in the rain continues. Lestrade has sent out men looking for any man that may answer his description, any man committed to any asylum or hospital or prison has been investigated and still nothing. I am inclined to believe he was nothing more than an apparition, a figment of my tormented mind, sent to torment me more. Mycroft remains as elusive as ever. He refuses to see me, to speak to me about what he may know and I am convinced he does know something. Martha wishes to return to London, she says she has been away too long and misses her old home. I cannot blame her and have agreed to her return. It has been so long, the feelings I had for her are still present but they have faded into a ache rather than the constant pain that was present whenever she entered my thoughts. Perhaps my infatuation with her was also simply my disturbed mind seeking comfort.

Of all the things I have been through I must confess that my loss of feeling for Martha has been the most painful. I miss the feeling I had for her almost constantly; I miss how she made me feel after Mary had gone, how she comforted me in my darkest moments, how the mere look of her would transport me to a different world where I was happy and at peace. The loss of that love, that intensity, grieves me and I wish for its return more than I wish for the return of Holmes.

It is growing dark out and my mind is comforted rather than tormented by it. I think I may finally be letting Holmes go. Work has picked up and Martha is returning, while I am not happy, I am not plagued by a constant sense of dread and fear as I once was. I can see the stars beginning to emerge out of my window, penetrating the silky darkness like beacons of some far away hope and I feel peaceful. I feel sleepy and perhaps tonight I may sleep without being haunted by the face of my dearest friend.

_I see the stars emerging and I think of home. I think of Watson and wonder if he too is looking at the same sky. I cannot think such sentimental thoughts, not if I am ever to return home. These men plague me and dog my every step; my thoughts run wild with a thousand scenarios of my death. How often have I pondered that subject over the last two years? Too many times. My instincts tell me the end is near and I pray to any God that may be listening to make the end quick and painless…_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen.**

It is peaceful here in town – I never thought I would write those words ever again. Martha has returned and Baker Street is warm and alive once more. I pass the door sometimes on my way home and reminisce of all the times – happy and sad – that I spent there. Occasionally Martha will spot me and invite me in for tea, which I always gratefully accept. I am not sure if she knows of what I felt for her, if she does then she does not embarrass me by letting on. The intensity of what I felt has gone but I feel peaceful in her presence and that is enough – to see her is enough. She says Mycroft has been by to view the rooms, I thought this strange and told her so, she said she couldn't see why I thought so, he was after all Holmes' brother and was grieving like the rest of us; it was only natural that he should want to spend more time in a place that reminded him of Holmes. I nodded but wasn't so sure that Mycroft's interest in Baker Street was out of grief alone. Still I did not press the issue, what Mycroft did was no concern of mine.

Lestrade has retained me as a police surgeon for the yard and cases come and go on a regular basis. Never very interesting or absorbing but the work is varied and the pay is good. I still think of Holmes and wonder where he is, it has been nearly three years. Such a long time and so much has changed. I am getting used to not having him around, I resist the urge I feel to run to him when a case I face seems too perplexing – which I must confess is not often. Still, at least now I am able to say that my thoughts do not constantly run to Holmes when a problem presents itself.

Lestrade joined me for dinner this evening. We have become quite good friends in Holmes' absence. He is a little rough around the edges but as Holmes observed long before I, he is the brightest of a dull bunch and quite amusing company. We talked of times past and of Holmes, his methods, what he would think of me being retained by the yard and the peculiarity of his brother. Many things were discussed and it was early in the morning by the time I returned home. Mrs. Hudson had been, she had tidied and left a Shepherd's pie in the oven for me, untrusting as she was – and perhaps a little jealous – of my new housekeeper. The night was warm and peaceful and as I write this, a gentle rain is falling outside my window. I suddenly feel rather sleepy and now I can sleep without my nightmares – I feel, and fear, that Holmes has finally left me.

_The night is warm and I feel stifled. It is strange to me to be back in England after so long. I have seen so much and suffered worse heat than this gentle English warmth but my skin tingles and burns. This hovel in which I am living is damp and I can hear the rain that has just begun to fall trickling through the wooden planks above my head. It does not bother me much. Ttoday I saw Baker Street again, from a distance and under heavy disguise but it was there, it was real and I touched it. It had seemed like a dream but there it was beneath my fingers. Mrs. Hudson saw me and, taking me for a tramp, moved me on in that kind and gentle way that is peculiar to her. I almost fainted when she touched my arm, the first person in three years who was real, who wasn't merely an intangible image of a life I had thought long gone. I wanted to be rid of my disguise and tell her I was returned, that I was home. I did not, I have seen no-one. Not even my brother who knows of my return. I ran from Baker Street as fast as I could, my memories overwhelming me. This return may prove harder than I had anticipated…I am so tired. I must sleep, just a few hours… that is all….just a few hours…._


	16. Chapter 16

**_The Return._**

_I saw him outside court. It was him. He looked thinner and his face was drawn, there were dark circles under his eyes and his coat was in need of a brush but it was him. My breath stopped in my throat and my eyes stung with tears I would never shed. He turned to look straight at me but he did not recognise me, I did not think he would. He left with Lestrade, they were laughing together and I felt, for the first time since my return, a sense of familiarity, that my return had been the right choice. The problem now of course, was what to do next. How to contact him without frightening him? It had after all been so long. I could not think of it so I returned to the lodgings – or rather the hovel – where I had been staying. I gathered what little things I had brought back and left the place with no sentimentality. I knew that my brother had preserved my rooms at Baker Street and it was to here that I returned. _

_I knocked the door dressed in my own clothes, the rags of my previous abode discarded after a visit to my brother, I confess I felt rather nervous at the prospect of seeing Mrs. Hudson. I am not a whole hearted admirer of woman kind and I feared hysterics. The handle twisted slightly as I was thinking causing me to jump. I cleared my throat, embarrassed at my lapse in concentration. It opened and I was confronted with the open mouthed gaze of Mrs. Hudson. I gently but firmly ushered her inside, if I was to face hysterics I would rather not face them in the street, she did not resist my touch and grasped my arm in a grip that was almost painful. Once inside I smiled gently at her and attempted to speak, I was stopped by her collapsing into my arms._

_After having restored Mrs. Hudson to her usual self and convincing her that I was in fact alive and not a spirit come back to haunt her, I proceeded upstairs to my former rooms, the feeling that enveloped me as I opened the door was too intense for me to describe adequately here. It was then that I remembered him, his chair was in front of me, empty._

_I thought a disguise would be the best course of action, I did not want to startle him with any sudden reappearance and thus hidden I was able to observe his movements. I followed him from the court into the street and, by a complete accident on my part, knocked into him. He looked blankly at me, waved away my effusive apologies and went on his way. I cursed inwardly at my lack of finess, it had all nearly been for nothing. I watched him enter a building not far away, following I noticed his name on a gold plaque beside the door and entered. I faced a girl of about seventeen who scowled at me._

"_Yes?" She demanded._

"_I want to see the doctor." I replied in as hoarse a voice as I could muster. _

"_He's busy."_

"_Wont take long."_

_I pushed passed her and made my way to the back of the building with her following and pulling at my clothes in a most unladylike manner. Finding the door with Watson's name on it I pushed it and hobbled in. the obstinate young girl came in breathless behind me._

"_I'm sorry doctor I couldn't stop him."_

"_It's quite alright Mary thank you."_

_He smiled at the girl and she left, not without casting an angry glance at me. _

_"You're surprised to see me, sir," I said, in the same croaking voice I had used with the maid. He acknowledged that he was._

_"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my books."_

_"You make too much of a trifle," He said. "May I ask how you knew who I was?" _

_"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir; here's `British Birds,' and `Catullus,' and `The Holy War' -- a bargain every one of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?" _

_He turned to look at the cabinet behind him and I took the opportunity to reveal myself. As he turned back there was a look upon his face that I have not seen before or since, it was joy mingled with shock and hate. I stared back at him, unable to say a word when his eyes closed and he dropped into a dead faint. I admit I panicked. My Watson, the Watson I had known was strong and resolute. The man I had now manoeuvred into a chair was struggling to breathe and his face was thinner and more lined than previously. I undid his collar and forced brandy onto his lips. His eyelids fluttered and slowly he came round. I wanted to say I was sorry for the past three years, to say I had missed him. I could not. _

_"My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected."_

_My dishonesty amazes even myself..._

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**My God how long does it take me to update? I think there will be maybe one more chapter of this to wrap everything up....**

**Thanks for reading and please please review : )**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

He is home. He is alive. I have never fainted before in my life – and I pray to God I shall never know such weakness again. The agonies of the past three years have seemed to fade into the recesses of my mind. He looks different, drawn, as if the last three years have been as hard for him as they have been for me. He wants me to move back to Baker Street; he has heard about Mary, I am not sure from whom, Mycroft probably. He has said nothing, but his sympathy is there in his eyes. I am not sure about Baker Street, it has been so long and there is Martha – he has reinstated her to her former position as housekeeper, not that there was any doubt about that, but I do not think he knows about us. Us? There never really was any us, still he is unaware of my feelings and of our sojourn to Scotland. How sordid I make it all sound?

He stayed in Paddington with me last night, I think he did not want to be alone. The brief case he had brought to my door was finished swiftly and effectively. Holmes was, as ever, brilliant in his workings and the man – no less than the formidable Colonel Moran – was finally brought to justice. Lestrade was shocked, but I think glad to see Holmes, if not a little relieved. He mentioned to me, after the arrests had been made and we were seated at Baker Street with brandy and cigars, that earlier that day Lestrade and his men had apprehended a man making a nuisance of himself in Piccadilly Circus, he said he would not have brought it up were it not for the fact that the man was screaming my name as he was being led away. Lestrade assured me the man was quite mad but nevertheless, repeated my name until he was confined to a cell, where he abruptly ceased talking and has not uttered a word since. Lestrade repeated that he thought only to mention it because the man had mentioned my name, like as not he was some ardent admirer who had caught wind of my name in the press and clung to it. I smiled in assent, but I could not help thinking there may be more to it. There was, after all, that man….when Holmes was away, that man that had stopped me in the street. I had not given him a second thought since but now….still, if he is behind bars what harm can he do me?

Holmes requested that I stay with him that night at Baker Street, I readily agreed for I was none to keen to return my lonely house in Paddington – besides the nearness of Martha was comforting to me. I did think Holmes' behaviour somewhat strange for a man who was more often than not, so completely happy in his solitude. I do wonder what happened to him during those three years, the things he has told me of his travels I hardly know how to believe so fantastic do they seem. Still, there will be time for that discussion I am sure. Holmes slept well into the next day and I must confess I also slept better that night than I have done in all the three years we have been apart. It is strange to be together again, our relationship has changed, there is still the companionship there was before, but the balance is all wrong. Something happened to Holmes of which he will not speak. I will not push, I am grateful to have him returned to me. I sat watching him sleep for a while this morning and pondered, perhaps selfishly, what I would be feeling were it Mary who had so miraculously returned to me? Would I be happier? I had thought the answer would instinctively be yes, but looking at my dear friend who had nearly driven me out of my mind with grief, I was not so certain that I would trade her for him.

And on that blasphemous thought I will end this diary. It has been a good companion to me over the past three years – the worst three years of my life. Perhaps one day it will be found and read and the world will know what I suffered. I am not so sure I want that, I am content to let my thoughts drift into the ether without another living soul having set eyes on them; however if you are real and you are reading this then I must say to you – thank you. I do hope I have not bored you or made you think worse of me than perhaps you did before, I do not ask for your pity or your sympathy, I ask only to be taken for what I am, simply a man, with a man's foibles. Farewell dear reader, whoever you may be, Dr. John. H. Watson thanks you most humbly for your time.

_I am sorry this has taken soooo long to complete – Life has a habit of getting in the way! Thank you to all those who kept reading this and any reviews on the final chapter would be gratefully appreciated!_


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